


good old fashioned lover boy

by ell (amywaited)



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Cute, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious, Office Romance, Pining, an abysmal attempt at slow burn, kind of slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywaited/pseuds/ell
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up at seven-fifteen every morning. He dresses the same, eats the same breakfast, wears the appropriate day-of-the-week socks. It's a well rehearsed, well oiled, routine. Except, Richie Tozier is the one variable he never accounted for, and he's absolutely thrown a spanner in the works now.





	good old fashioned lover boy

**Author's Note:**

> hi! sorry for the hiatus (if youre coming from some of my other work - lol). this fic is dedicated to a couple people:
> 
> 1: my girlfriend who has been reading it as i write & supplying many a compliment and being just generally wonderful, so thank u.  
2: the pennygorgang groupchat for helping with baby names, being my main cheerleaders, and also supplying me with the reddie playlists which (along with [THIS ALBUM](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLC5AB9190F21DFFFA)) have been the main soundtrack to this fic.
> 
> so thank u! i hope you all enjoy <3
> 
> [title from this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vqzjcKyUF0&list=PLC5AB9190F21DFFFA&index=9&t=0s)

Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up at seven-fifteen every morning, which is really far too early in his own personal opinion. He sits up in bed, stretches his every single limb individually, turns his alarm clock off with a kind of well practiced patience, and slides out from under his blankets. Then, it takes him fifteen minutes to shower, another fifteen to dress in an outfit that is almost impressively similar to the one he wore the day before, and he makes his way to his kitchen, proceeds to pick his way through all the washing up he has yet to do, and sets about preparing a halfhearted breakfast.

It’s a well-rehearsed, well-oiled routine. One he’s performed for closing on three years now (God, has it been that long? Only twenty four and he’s already got himself stuck in an office job, exactly like he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do). He knows the routine as well as he knows himself, and it has never, not ever, failed him.

He makes it to work on time every morning, his satchel full of old receipts, paperwork, and sometimes, a newspaper. He really couldn’t ask for more. Good pay, a roof over his head, people to go out for drinks with on the Fridays that he can be bothered to show up, and the love/hate relationship with his boss that he only ever thought happened in movies. 

He sometimes entertains the idea that he’s a simple man, and perhaps he is. But simplicity has always worked for him - besides, he has no use for frilly accessories. Why waste time and money on something he simply doesn’t need? 

* * *

Julia who works the front desk at his building always smiles at him when he arrives. She’s in her early fifties, or thereabouts, with wiry grey hair and bright red lipstick that bleeds into the wrinkles around her mouth. Her earrings always look far too heavy for her ears, and Eddie almost feels sorry for them. Occasionally, he’ll whisper out a prayer for them - despite the fact that he hasn’t believed in a God since his twelfth birthday.

She has a nice smile, Eddie thinks. Or at least, she used to. Her teeth are straight, but slightly yellowed. When she smiles too wide, he can see the light glint off of a gold tooth, and it makes his stomach turn with long since buried memories of his mother and his childhood.

He’s spent longer than he’d like to admit reversing the effects of his upbringing for it to all be brought to a crashing halt by something as small as a gold tooth, he thinks. He has more backbone than that, so he always smiles back and makes his way straight to the elevator. 

His department works on the seventh floor. Finance, which is probably Eddie’s most regretted decision of his life. It’s his greatest relief that the two people who work either side of him are interesting enough to get him through it - Beverly Marsh and Stanley Uris, so say their name placards. Beverly works a lot with the sales department, although Eddie isn’t quite sure if she so much as works with them or just eats their cookies and flirts to use their coffee machine because it’s better than the one on the seventh floor and everyone knows that. 

Stan doesn’t talk much to anyone, so Eddie and Beverly tend to talk at him a lot. He’s mentioned knowing someone in HR - a Bill Denbrough - as well as someone from admin who Beverly claims to know as well, Ben Hanscom. Eddie vaguely recognises the name.

“Morning, Eddie!” Beverly calls, once he exits the elevator. Her orange-y hair looks like she just woke up, and knowing Beverly, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised. He waves back, filling his water bottle up from the water machine in the kitchenette before sitting down.

“Hey, Bev. How are you?” He asks, switching his computer on. Stanley isn’t in yet, which is kind of surprising given he’s usually early and Eddie half expects that he sleeps over at the office some days.

“I’m good,” Bev says. She folds her legs up on the chair. “I was talking to some of the admin people today and they said we’re preparing for a launch soon, which’ll probably mean a heavy workload. Sometimes I feel sorry for the sales and marketing teams, you know?”

Eddie chuckles. “I know what you mean. They must have some of the worst jobs. I mean, I hate finance as much as the next person, but at least we don’t have to talk to people.”

“Exactly,” Beverly says. She laughs, tapping in her password. “Have you seen Stan today?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No. Is he late?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him,” she muses. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Usually he’s early.” Her mouth curls into a grimace. The desktop pulls up eventually - their computers are horrendously slow and make a terrible whirring noise whenever you push them too hard, but Eddie has never had much patience. Beverly clicks on one of the apps and turns to him while she waits for it to load.

“It is weird,” Eddie says. He taps out his own password, grimacing at the loading sign on the screen. “I’m sure he’s fine. Hey, do you think we’ll ever get new computers?”

Beverly scoffs. “Not a chance. I bet these have been here for longer than you’ve even been working here - we won’t get new computers until these ones set themselves on fire, and even then it’s a toss up.”

“You’re probably right,” Eddie says reluctantly, sighing. The screen loads finally, and he double clicks on an application.

“Oh-” Beverly says. Eddie watches her gaze flicker from the corner of his eye. “Stan’s here. He looks grumpy.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Stan says. His curly hair looks less curly and more frizzy, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. He looks stressed, and it’s barely half past nine. “I ran into Richie Tozier in the lobby. I have never met a man who can talk more, honestly.”

Bev laughs. “From sales? I know him. He’s alright, you know.”

“Yeah, alright when he’s quiet,” Stan grumbles. “I felt like I was going insane. I don’t even remember half of what he said. He must have coffee hooked into his bloodstream while he sleeps, or something.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Beverly says. “He’s a character.”

“You can say that again,” Stan says. He flicks his computer on too, and Eddie frowns at the deep rumbling coming from it.

“Your computer sounds like it’s got a sore throat, Stan,” he says. 

Stan shrugs. “I’ll give it some lozenges. There’s no way HR will replace them any time soon. We’ll just have to deal.”

“You could call someone from IT,” Beverly suggests. “It really doesn’t sound very healthy. I don’t know how we’ll concentrate if it keeps on like that.”

“Uris! Shut your computer up!” Someone yells from the desk opposite. Eddie only half recognises him, not enough to know his name, but he has an ugly sort of face, a little bit like a rat. He thinks of Peter Pettigrew and can’t get the thought out of his head.

“Ugh, Henry Bowers,” Bev mutters, her voice thick with distaste. “I thought he got fired last week for sexual harassment.”

“What?” Stan asks, furrowing his brow at her.

“Yeah. Didn’t you hear? It was a whole situation - do you know Debra Clarke from logistics? She went to HR claiming he was sending her dick pics-”

“Beverly!” Eddie gasps.

She laughs. “Sorry, Eds. Anyway, she said he was sending her pictures through  _ email,  _ like we’re in the nineties still, honestly, it’s ridiculous. I heard from sales that after Debra complained, a load of other women did too, and HR looked into it. Apparently it’s true, and Jane in IT - she got one too - she said it’s barely three inches.”

Eddie feels his cheeks flush red. It’s not that he’s a prude. He’s seen porn, and everything. He just… isn’t particularly used to hearing about it so casually. Beverly notices and reaches across to pinch them, giggling.

“Christ, really?” Stan asks, wrinkling his nose. “That’s disgusting. I can’t believe he’s not been fired yet.”

“I know, right?” Beverly says. Her lips take on a more serious structure. “I hate it.”

“...I’ll talk to Bill,” Stan says decisively. “Maybe he’ll be able to sway them.”

“Who  _ is  _ Bill?” Eddie asks. “We always hear about him, but you never tell us anything.”

Stan blushes. “He’s nobody.”

Beverly’s face splits in a grin. “Nobody, huh? Is that why you’re red as fire engine right now? Oh, my God, was he your lunch date the other week? Stanley Uris, I can’t believe you kept this from us.”

Stan smiles at his desk. “He’s, um, actually my fiance.”

Beverly squeals. “Oh, my God! How could you not tell us?!” She pushes out of her seat to hug Stan tightly. Eddie laughs. “How come you don’t have a ring? Oh, did you propose? When? Come on, spill the beans.”

Stan grins, hugging her arms. “I proposed. Just a month ago. He keeps saying I should get a ring as well, but I don’t really want that.”

“This is so exciting,” Beverly gushes. “God, I can’t believe you kept this from us for so long! I thought we were friends, Uris.”

“I’m happy for you, Stan,” Eddie says, poking his elbow. “Even if the congratulations are a month late.”

“Celebratory drinks are in order,” Bev declares. “After work today. We’ll go to the bar.”

“Thanks, Eddie. I’m not getting drunk on a week day,” Stan says. 

“We won’t get drunk. Just one or two glasses of red,” Beverly says. “We have to celebrate this, Stan! I want to know everything.”

“I won’t tell you any of it unless you can get me blackout drunk,” Stan promises.

Beverly seems to take that as a challenge. “You can count on it,” she says, and Stan groans, burying his face in his hands.

“Lord give me strength,” he says to the desk and Bev bursts into peals of laughter. Eddie chuckles beside her, tapping his fingers on the mouse. There’s never a dull day sitting next to the two of them, he thinks. Never a dull day at all. 

* * *

Half way through the day, five minutes until Eddie can take his lunch break, in fact, is when the fire alarm starts blaring through the building. There’s about five seconds of confused silence before Mandy at the front desk screams and drops a glass, and that causes pandemonium. Here’s the thing: they never got a fire drill. Not a good one, anyway, and sure, Eddie might have memorised the ‘Fire Emergency Plan’ sheets pasted on the backs of the toilet stalls, but that doesn’t mean he  _ knows  _ what to do in the situation. 

It’s why he’s utterly confused when Beverly turns to look at him with wide, scared eyes, like he could lead them to safety and put out whatever fire there is at the same time. Stan, who Eddie always thought would be hard as steel in an emergency, freezes up until Beverly tugs his hand and they all rush to the stairs. 

Honestly, Eddie wouldn’t be at all surprised if the ‘fire’ was just someone leaving bread in the toaster oven for too long, or maybe one of the computers finally imploded. Maybe one of the older employers left the projector in one of the meeting rooms on for too long and now there’s an electrical fire. He’s quite curious about it, really. 

They get out eventually, pushing through to the other side of the street. All Eddie can do is laugh breathlessly and hang on tightly to Beverly and Stan’s hands, like he has nowhere else to go. A couple of people come up to them, one holding a clipboard and positively dripping stress. One woman is crying, and Beverly wipes her running mascara before she rushes off again. 

“Look,” Stan says, pointing over across the street. “Richie Tozier. He doesn’t look scared at all.”

Bev turns, craning her neck over the crowds of people. She waves when Richie catches her eye. “I bet he had something to do with this,” she says and Eddie chokes. 

“You think it was deliberate?” He asks, “not just a normal fire?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past Tozier, really. He does seem the type.”

“This’ll be fueling the gossip for weeks,” Stan says. “No one will shut up about it. How much do you bet they’ll put a page in the paper about it?”

“Ten bucks,” Beverly says. 

“Deal.”

“What’s a deal?” asks Richie Tozier, who is now stood in front of them with a mile wide grin. Eddie only slightly recognises him - more from the stories he’s heard around the office and what Bev’s mentioned, but only in passing. His expectations don’t at all live up to the real thing. 

Richie is tall - that much Eddie already knew. But he didn’t know just how tall, and he’s fairly sure Richie now stands almost a whole head taller than him. Maybe even more. His hair is less I-woke-up-like-this waves and more ‘just got electrocuted’, but he somehow makes it work. Eddie would like to describe his eyes as rich and soulful, like they do in the books, but they’re more a kind of sludge brown. He still can’t look away, though, so he supposes they’re not so bad. 

Beverly nudges him, jabbing her elbow into his stomach and jolting him out of his reverie. “We were betting on whether there’d be a spread about this in the paper,” she says. “Ten dollars.”

Richie snorts. “Of course there will be. Every day is a slow news day here, they need all the stories they can get. Just you wait, they’ll milk this for all its worth.”

“You think?” Stan asks. “Do you know what happened?”

“Between you and me,” Richie says, lowering his voice and putting a finger to his lips. “It may be slightly my fault.”

“I knew it!” Beverly cheers, triumphantly. Richie grins at her. 

“How slightly?” Eddie asks. 

Richie turns to him. “Just a tiny bit. I may have fallen asleep and leant on the fire alarm just a bit too hard, which is hardly my fault. I’d like to blame my criminally low melatonin levels.”

Bev giggles. “You’ll be fired when HR find out.”

“Do you think?” Richie says. He gnaws on his bottom lip and Eddie tries not to stare. “This is the reason I’ll be fired? Honestly, I feel like I’ve done so many other things that warrant being fired that this is almost disappointing.”

“I can talk to Bill?” Stan offers. “I’ll convince him to keep you on board long enough for you to go out with a real bang.”

Richie’s face lights up. “You, good sir,” he says, putting on a disgustingly overdone British accent, “are a lifesaver.” He grabs Stan’s hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Have you seen Bill yet?” Beverly asks. 

Stan shakes his head. “No. Not yet. He’s probably caught up doing all sorts of management things. He’ll come to find me soon.”

“Does this mean we’ll get to meet him?” Eddie asks. 

Stan’s eyes widen microscopically. “I… I guess so, yeah. Please don’t embarrass me. He’ll never want to marry me if you do.”

“That’s okay, Stan,” Beverly says. “We won’t mention the time you spilt coffee across the desk and made it look like you pissed yourself…”

“Or the time you were babysitting your niece and didn’t realise she had vomited all down your back until Beverly told you,” Eddie continues.

“Or when you accidentally stapled your hand instead of some notes and had to make Sarah-Jane pull it out for you,” Bev finishes, grinning. Stan groans. “Hey, did Bill even notice the bandaid on your hand when that happened?”

Stan nods, flushing red. “Yeah. I just told him I burnt myself on the toaster.”

Richie laughs. “And I thought I was clumsy. How have you made it this far?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Stan says, deadpan. “When do you think we’ll be allowed back in the building?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess as soon as they can get everyone to calm down. If there isn’t a fire, I’m sure it’ll be soon. There’s probably protocols and stuff that they have to follow.”

Beverly nods, “yeah. Protocols and shit. If they can’t let us back in today, they’ll probably just send us home. Is everyone still down for going to the bar?”

“Bar?” Richie asks. “What’s the celebration?”

“Stan didn’t tell us he was engaged, so we’re going out to celebrate,” Beverly explains. “You’re welcome to join. We’ll make a party out of it. Maybe we should invite a couple other people too.”

“Like who?”

Bev makes a face. “I don’t know. We’ll get Bill to come along, maybe he’ll know some more people in management he can invite.”

Stan hums, “maybe. I know he’s friendly with this one guy, Mike Hanlon.”

“We could invite Ben too,” Richie says. “He doesn’t have many friends here.”

Beverly nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Let’s find them, now. Maybe Bill will be able to tell us what’s going on, too.”

* * *

They run into Ben Hanscom first, who is sitting alone on the curb, looking rather dejected. Richie stands right in front of him, flicking his ear until he looks up. When he does, Beverly shoves Richie over and takes his place, smiling down at Ben.

“Hi, Ben,” she says. “We’re going out for drinks after work, and were wondering if you wanted to come too.”

Ben, Eddie thinks, is a nice, quiet man. He reminds Eddie of a grandfather, sort of, where he’s kind of soft around the belly, and his eyes are old and tired but he looks wonderfully kind and rather good at hugs. He’s never really spoken to him before, their work doesn’t exactly cross paths, but he sees him sometimes in the lobby. He thinks Ben is the one who brings homebaked sugar cookies to their Christmas parties, too, and that automatically puts him into his good books.

“Oh,” Ben says, sounding kind of surprised. “Are you sure?”

Beverly’s eyes soften. “Of course we’re sure. We’d love you to be there.”

Ben’s cheeks flush. It makes him look young, Eddie thinks. “Then sure. Where are you going?”

“Why don’t I give you my number and I’ll text you?” Beverly suggests, so Ben pulls out his phone and hands it to her. They all watch in silence as she adds her contact and then hands the device back. “Perfect. I’ll see you later, then?”

Ben smiles, like he can’t quite believe what just happened. Eddie feels sorry for him. “Yeah. Of course.”

Beverly winks at him, before Richie pulls her away, spreading his arms wide and declaring. “You were  _ so  _ flirting with him,” and Bev blushes.

“I was not.”

“You were! You absolutely were, you massive tease,” Richie continues. “You luurrrrve him, you were flirting so hard. I could feel the sexual tension, how much you want that d-”

“Richie!” Beverly cuts him off, giggling. “Shut up.”

Eddie tries to ignore how red his own cheeks are, cursing his prudish-ness.

* * *

Bill is actually the one who finds them, Mike in tow. He looks flustered, panicked, and like he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands. Stan seems to be some kind of magnetic force for him, because he attaches his hands to Stan’s cheeks and kisses him so deeply that Eddie has to look away. Beverly makes an ‘awww’ sound under her breath.

“Thank God,” Bill says. “I was looking for you!”

Stan puts his hands on top of Bill’s. “I was looking for you too. Do you know what happened?”

Bill shakes his head. “No. There’s no fire, but I heard my bosses talking about active shooters-”

“What?!” Eddie gasps.

“It’s all speculation at the moment,” Bill says hastily. “Rumors, mostly. They don’t really know anything, but everyone’s scared. They’ll probably get everyone to go home for today, right, Mike?”

“Right,” Mike says. 

“Christ,” Beverly says, exhaling heavily. “We were just coming to see if you would want to come out for drinks with us tonight. Stan only just told us you two were engaged, so we’re going to have a belated party for you.”

“If Stan’s going, I’ll go,” Bill says. “But you can’t get too drunk. I imagine we’ll be back in tomorrow.”

“They’ll be fine,” Richie says dismissively. “If we’re hungover, we can just put it down to stress from today. Do they really think there’s a shooter?”

Bill shrugs. “I wish I had more answers for you.”

Eddie nudges Richie, and whispers just so he can hear, “maybe you should thank your melatonin levels.”

He decides, right there and then, that Richie’s laugh is something he would give anything to hear again.

* * *

Eddie was never expecting to see his work friends absolutely blackout drunk - especially not on a week day. But here he is, sitting alone at the bar, watching to try and make sure none of them impale themselves on a bar stool, or something. And there they are, dancing wildly to songs he doesn’t recognise and, if given the chance, would rather cut his ears off than listen to again.

Richie, who was sitting next to him just five seconds ago, has gathered a collection of increasingly luminescent cocktails. He had been attempting to drink three of them at the same time (much to Eddie’s chagrin), and accidentally spilt drink everywhere, so the bar top is slightly sticky, and also very slightly glowing. Eddie point blank refuses to touch it. 

Now, he’s doing some kind of dance (Eddie thinks its quite reminiscent of the blow up men they have at car dealerships) and trying to balance on one foot, like a flamingo. He’s not very good at it, but it’s rather entertaining to watch. 

Beverly crowds herself into his space with a grin. Her cheeks are flushed red, whether its from alcohol or exuberance, Eddie can’t quite tell. Her eyes sparkle under the lights. “What are you doing over here alone, Eddie?! Come out and dance with us!”

She grabs his hand and shakes their arms together, giggling. Eddie smiles, moving his arm obediently. “I’m okay, Bev,” he says. “It’s getting kinda late.”

“The night has hardly begun!” she says, face melting into disappointment. “Come on, Eddie, just one dance. Just one, for me.”

Eddie feels his resolve breaking, and she pulls him from the chair with a grin. “You will be the death of me, Beverly Marsh!” he yells over the music, as she leads him into the crowd, but he really can’t find it in him to mind all that much.

* * *

Their night ends when Stan throws up in the flowerbeds outside. Eddie decides to take it upon himself to announce that it’s over, and Mike thankfully agrees with him, which really helps when it comes to convincing the other five to pile into a taxi.

They all end up going to Beverly’s. Eddie can’t ever remember a time where he felt so comfortable with other people - nor a time where he spent the night in a house that wasn’t his own. It’s disorientating, almost, curling up on her sofa with a blanket. He and Richie are sleeping on the three seater, top and tail. Bill and Stan are tangled together on the carpet, and Mike’s taken the armchair, leaving Ben and Beverly to her bed.

Eddie isn’t sure if that was deliberate or not, but he’s not oblivious to the way they kept staring at each other. The slightly nervous smile Beverly sends him before she says goodnight speaks loud enough, anyway.

He thinks he’s the last awake, now. Bill and Stan are asleep if their heavy breathing is anything to go by, Mike hasn’t moved in about forty five minutes. Richie hasn’t said a word for the past fifteen minutes, either, which Eddie is assuming means he’s fallen asleep too. 

He’s not quite sure how they’ll all cope tomorrow. Perhaps half of him is hoping they can all call in sick - he’d give anything to spend some more time with the group. He barely knows them at all and already he feels more comfortable than he ever has before. It’s giving his brain whiplash. 

Really, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if they did all call in sick. Richie especially, Eddie lost count of the amount of drinks he had bought. He feels sorry for Richie’s bank account. And also himself, because he suspects he, as arguably the most sober, will be tasked with helping the others through their hangovers.

Mike, at least, had made a murmured promise to help him, but Eddie doubts he’ll even remember it tomorrow. He resigns himself to his fate, not even minding that much.

* * *

Eddie doesn’t wake up first, which he’s only slightly surprised about. He’d have thought that, after years of conditioning himself to wake up at a quarter past seven each morning, his body clock would wake him up at near enough the same time. That’s not, apparently, how it works, because it turns out that he wakes up at just gone eleven.

Half way through the night, he must have migrated up the sofa, because he wakes up curled in Richie’s arms, being positively spooned. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to call Richie - or any of them, really - his colleagues again. Let alone run into them at the office.

“Morning, Eddie,” Beverly says. She’s already dressed, wearing a pair of those fashionably ripped dungarees (Eddie thinks her knees must be getting cold) and holding a coffee cup with great care. She giggles. “Richie holding you hostage?”

Richie, who Eddie previously thought was still asleep, grumbles. “I’m not holding him anything.”

“Whatever you say, octopus,” Bev says. “Coffee?”

Eddie blushes. Richie unloops his arms from around Eddie’s chest and stretches them out towards Beverly. “Coffeeeeee,” he repeats, in a guttural moan. Not unlike that of a zombie, Eddie thinks. It rumbles through his chest.

“Do you have tea?” Eddie asks. Coffee makes his heart go funny, and for all the reversing the effects of his upbringing he did, coffee is one of the only things he still can’t drink. 

“Tea?” Richie says, pulling a face. He puts on a voice, all uppity and posh. “A tea for the gentleman, Beverly dear.”

“Beep beep, Rich,” Beverly says, with a twinkly grin. It’s obviously an inside joke, but Eddie doesn’t feel left out. 

Richie flips her off. “Supply me with coffee, woman.”

“It’s not the nineteen hundreds anymore, Richie,” Bill calls. “We strive for gender equality in the twenty first century.”

“Alright, fine,” Richie says, “supply me with coffee, man.” He curls his arms back around Eddie, licking a stripe up the back of his neck.

“Richie!” Eddie exclaims, jerking away. “What the fuck?”

“What’d he do?” Bev asks, setting her mug on the coffee table.

“Licked me,” Eddie grumbles, petulantly. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore Richie laughing behind him. “Let me up, Richie.”

“Why?” Richie asks. He sounds like a child, Eddie thinks.

“Let me up before I piss myself,” Eddie says. Richie tightens his grip for a few seconds before relaxing, letting Eddie roll off of the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know,” Richie says. “If you did piss, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Ew, Richie!”

* * *

They end up spending the day piled on Beverly’s sofa watching movies. Eddie feels a knot in his stomach at the thought of missing work - and subsequently disrupting his routine - but being around the others (his friends?) is enough to placate the anxiety for now.

He’s not even sure if they are friends now. Hanging around watching films and getting drunk on a work day doesn’t really sound like the sort of thing work colleagues would do, but the only people he feels comfortable enough to label as friends is Bev and Stan. And maybe Richie, but that just opens a whole new can of worms, and Eddie doesn’t want to think about it right now. Or ever, if he can get away with it.

It’s always been his downfall, he thinks. Running fast and headstrong into falling in love, and then falling too far to get back up again. Richie is fast becoming the person who makes his heart burst out of his chest, and he’s barely known him for longer than twenty four hours. God. He can’t date his coworker, that probably breaks a hundred company policies, and besides, he’s seen enough soap operas to know that workplace romances don’t work out. He refuses to become that person.

Bill stands up to switch the  _ Ghostbusters  _ DVD for the next one in Beverly’s pile (which turns out to be  _ Mamma Mia _ , much to Richie’s excitement. He grins wildly, throwing his hands in the air and pulling Eddie into a sideways hug).

“We’re dancing to all the songs,” he declares, already pulling Eddie up into a jive. “Come on!”

“Nooo,” Bev moans. “I’m too hungover, Rich. Besides, you can’t dance to  _ I Have A Dream _ , dumbass.”

“Yes, you can,” Richie says. He slows down to a waltz, perfectly in time. “O’, ye of little faith.”

Eddie giggles, letting Richie’s hands guide him where he needs to go. They side step over Stan’s legs, and then Bill’s too. Mike tries to trip them up, and Richie squawks indignantly.

The room collectively groans. “Shut up,” Stan moans, burying his head in Bill’s stomach.

“Sorry,” Richie whispers, over-exaggerated. Sophie starts posting her letters on the screen, so Richie flops back onto the sofa. He pulls Eddie with him, still holding his hand, and he falls on top of Richie. He blushes bright red almost instantly, scrabbling to sit up normally.

Richie laughs, his arms coming to wrap around Eddie’s middle. He can’t tell if this is just normal for Richie, if his touchy-feely-ness is just a part of him, or if it means more like it does to Eddie. Beverly smiles at him in a way that makes Eddie’s heart freeze, but he’s not sure why yet.

Eddie definitely doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look Richie in the eye again. 

* * *

The next day, Eddie wakes up in his own bed, to his own alarm, without anybody spooning him or making him green tea or belting  _ ABBA  _ songs directly into his ear. It’s almost nice, but his heart is just beginning to start to miss it all.

He gets ready for work quicker than he thinks he ever has, but doesn’t leave. He sits on his sofa and half watches the news for fifteen minutes, fiddling with his phone. He’s almost hoping that Richie will text him, but he doesn’t even have his number. He feels twelve years old again, waiting for the phone to ring for him. It never did.

By the time he gets to his building, gets past Julia at the front desk, waves to Ben who’s standing by a window with a briefcase and a tired smile, and into the elevator, he’s thoroughly exhausted and the day has barely started. He leans against the back wall, watching the numbers change and breathing a heavy sigh.

It stops at the fifth floor to let Beverly on. She smiles at Eddie, makes a calculated glance at the buttons and proceeds to push every single one, before stepping back to lean on the wall with Eddie.

“What the hell was that for?” Eddie asks. He fiddles with his cuffs. Bev obviously wants to talk to him, alone, and the glint in her eye does not bode well for him.

“I wanted to ask you something. Without other people around.”

“There’s a camera in here watching our every move,” Eddie says.

“Shut up,” Beverly tells him, smiling. “Come on. Tell me, what’s your deal with Richie?”

“I don’t have a deal with Richie,” Eddie says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure,” Bev says. “That’s why you were spooning the other night, and why he wouldn’t let go of your hand for anyone, why you danced to every song in  _ Mamma Mia _ , and  _ Grease _ , and why I have never seen you so relaxed around anyone else before. You totally don’t have a deal with him.”

“What-”

“Beverly Marsh sees all, Eddie,” she declares. “Get used to it.”

“Fine,” Eddie mutters. “I don’t have a deal with him. He’s just nice, and cute, I guess. I thought he was that touchy with everyone. I mean, he kept hugging everyone else, too, right?”

“He didn’t stare at my ass all night, though,” Bev says, matter-of-factly.

Eddie’s eyes widen. “He  _ what _ ?!”

Beverly smiles, patting his arm. “You’ve got an admirer, Eds. Admit it.”

He makes a face, “if I have to have an admirer, does it have to be Richie?”

Bev laughs. “He’s a good guy, Eddie. He needs someone like you.”

“You think?”

“I know. You wait,” she says. “This time next month, we won’t be able to tear you away from each other.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Bev,” Eddie says. He thinks she’s utterly wrong, but the elevator has stopped so he gets out before she can say anymore. 

He’ll walk the rest of the way. He only sort of regrets that decision when he ends up walking down sixteen flights of stairs. 

* * *

Stan is half asleep at his desk when Eddie finally gets to their floor. Beverly smiles at him like she knows something he doesn’t, and really, he wouldn’t be surprised if she did. He sinks into his chair, clicking his computer on with a heavy sigh. 

“Did they ever find out about the fire alarm?” Eddie asks. 

Bev hums. “I don’t know. If they did, I don’t know about it. They’re probably trying to keep it all quiet.”

“They found out it was set off because of Richie,” Stan says. He sounds positively exhausted. “All the other stuff was just rumors. Bill was getting pretty stressed out over it last night. He’s worried all the rumors will tarnish the company.”

Beverly scoffs. “It’ll be fine. The company’ll pull through.”

“He’s still worried,” Stan says, almost defensively. “We’re all worried. Have you talked to any of the others since the other night?”

Beverly nods. “I see Richie a lot, and I ran into Ben in the lobby. He said it’d be nice to get together again some time,” she makes a considering face. “I’m not the only one who felt… like we belonged together, right?”

“I felt it too,” Eddie confesses. “I thought it was stupid and I was just lonely at first, but it really does feel like we just fit.”

Stan nods slowly, “I get what you mean. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Ben’s right,” Beverly says. “We should go out again some time. It’d be nice to have some friends who aren’t you two.”

Eddie gasps in mock offence. “Why would you ever want someone other than me and Stan? Where will you ever find friends this good again?”

“I’m sure I can find some,” Bev teases. She taps her fingernails on her computer. “God, I’m going to kick one of these through the window one of these days.”

“Do it,” Stan encourages. “Maybe you’ll get a new one that way.”

“Doubt it,” Eddie says. He wiggles his own mouse impatiently. “They’d probably just hook the monitor up again and make you use it regardless of the damage it sustained.”

Beverly groans. “You’re right. I don’t know how much longer I can take this without going flat out insane. It’s inhumane. It’s practically torture, making us use these computers. It must be a war crime somewhere.”

“You’d have thought after three years you’d get used to it,” Stan grumbles. “They just get more and more tedious.”

“Do you think if we paid off the IT team, they’d buy us new computers?” Eddie asks.

“How much?”

He shrugs. “As much as they want. I’d give anything at this point.” His computer takes up a disturbing sounding grumble and a slightly worrying, continuous whir. 

“Same,” Beverly says, thumping her head on top of the keyboard with a crash. Eddie hooks his fingers in her hair comfortingly.

“Maybe we should have a fundraiser,” Stan suggests. “Do all the other departments have new computers?”

Beverly nods dejectedly. “Admin do, sales do, HR obviously have the best of the best. Logistics don’t really use their computers but they definitely have better ones than we do. I rarely go down to IT, but I’d wager this month’s paycheck that theirs are better too. It’s just us.”

“But we use our computers loads,” Stan says. He sounds confused. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t upgrade ours.”

“I don’t know,” Bev says, shrugging. “It’s just so unfair.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “Got that right. I never want to see another loading sign again.”

“Me neither,” Stan says. “If I do, I’ll strangle someone with my extension cord. Or maybe I’ll just strangle myself and then I won’t have to worry.”

“Suicide pact?” Beverly suggests.

Eddie laughs. “It might get them listening.”

“What might get who listening?” Richie’s voice comes from behind Eddie. He drapes his arms over the back of his chair. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Beverly asks, raising her eyebrows at him. “Stop making flirty eyes at my coworker and go back to your desk.”

Eddie splutters. “Flirty eyes?!”

Beverly sends him a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, Eddie. Anyway, we’re discussing the merits of a suicide pact.”

“All in favour, say aye,” Stan says.

“Why?” Richie asks. He sounds confused, and Eddie resists turning around to see if he looks as confused as he sounds, for fear that his heart won’t be able to take it. He doesn’t particularly think passing out or having a heart attack would make a good impression - but then again, his first meeting with Richie was during a fire alarm, and the second Richie was horrifically drunk, so he’s not sure how much of an impression he has left to give.

“To see if we’ll be able to get new computers out of it,” he explains.

“But if you’re dead, you won’t be able to use the new computers?”

“Then we’ll be heralded as heroes,” Stan says. “We’ll be the ones who sacrificed ourselves so everyone else wouldn’t have to suffer.”

Richie laughs. “I’ll do my best to uphold that status for you, then. Put you all in the hall of fame.”

“We don’t even have a hall of fame,” Eddie says. Richie’s hands drop into his hair, fiddling with the strands.

“Then I’ll make one, just for you,” Richie tells him, like it was obvious.

“Your generosity is astounding, Richie,” Beverly says, laughing. “Now, fuck off and let us complain about our computers in peace.”

“Let me complain with you,” Richie says. “My computer got overtaken by Alister because someone downloaded a bunch of porn onto it and it got a virus.” He grins, “Weird, right?”

Bev makes a face at him. “So weird.”

Richie laughs. “Come on, complain away, then.” He pulls Eddie’s chair out without a word, lifts him up and settles into the chair himself, dropping Eddie back into his lap. 

“Wha-!” Eddie squawks. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting and complaining, Eddie-Spaghetti, what does it look like?” Richie says. His hands loop around Eddie’s middle.

“Do you have to sit in my chair to do it?” Eddie asks. His mouth twists up into a grimace. “Not that I’m absolutely loving this right now, I do kind of have work to do.”

“I thought your computers didn’t work,” Richie says, innocently. He uses his feet to push the chair closer to the desk. “There you go, now you can work.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Eddie promises, sincerely. Richie just laughs.

* * *

Richie leaves them alone after an hour, after Joe (the manager of sales) came to find him and practically dragged Richie towards the elevator. Eddie had pretended to be grumpy, but really, after Richie had left, he sort of missed him. Only slightly. Slightly enough that Beverly seemed to pick up on it because she kept winking at him, but still only slightly. Beverly is just observant, he tells himself, he’s really not that obvious.

The rest of the morning passes relatively quickly. Stan drinks too much coffee (which has only happened a handful of times before, and Eddie and Bev look forward to it every time), and Madison who works at the desk behind them had a row with Andy who works behind her and that seemed to fuel the gossip columns long enough to last till their lunch break.

Eddie doesn’t break until Beverly forces him to, by dropping a ten dollar bill and a takeaway sub in front of him. “Richie’s waiting for you,” she says. “In the lobby. Don’t leave him hanging.”

It’s Beverly, so he goes. He can’t quite imagine a world in which he wouldn’t do what Beverly says.

Richie is waiting for him in the lobby, just like Bev said. He’s staring around almost nervously, which makes Eddie feel nervous too, so he swallows down all his fear and walks up to him. He can’t even remember the last time he was that bold.

“Beverly said you were waiting for me.”

Richie jumps. “Oh- Eddie. Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, the exact opposite to how he feels. “That’s fine. Did you, um, did you want something?”

Richie seems to sink back into himself, nailing Eddie with a grin that seems to say ‘I’m hot shit’. Eddie wouldn’t disagree, really. “Yep. I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch with me.”

Eddie holds up the sub Beverly gave him. “Bev gave me this.”

“Perfect, because I don’t have any money on me,” Richie says. He puts on a voice. “Right this way, then, sir.”

“Why did you want to get lunch with me?” Eddie asks.

Richie shrugs, leading him out the doors and onto the street below. “Dunno. You’re my favourite.”

“You have favourites?”

“I guess so. Do you?”

Eddie inhales. “I don’t know. I only met you all a few days ago - I haven’t even thought about it. I’ve never really spoken to anyone other than Bev and Stan, so I don’t know.”

“You don’t have any friends outside of work?” Richie asks. They turn down an alleyway and Eddie tries not to let his nose wrinkle too obviously.

“Not really,” he says. “Do we have to be down here?”

“Why? Do you not like it?” Richie asks, turning around to look at him. His eyes are calculating, and Eddie finds himself growing hot under his stare. 

Old habits die hard, Eddie supposes. “Uh, no. It’s fine, I just…” He exhales sharply. “Old habit,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure,” Richie says. “I thought we could just sit on the fire escape. At the top?”

“That sounds fine,” Eddie nods, staring up at the top of the fire escape doubtfully.

Richie relaxes. “Cool. Come on then, I’ll go first. And hey - no staring at my ass, okay? I know, I know, I’m asking the impossible here.”

Eddie scoffs, watching Richie start climbing. “Yeah, sure. Impossible.”

“Are you saying you  _ don’t  _ want to stare at my ass?” Richie gasps in mock offense. “Honestly, Eds, that hurts me right here.” He thumps his fist on his chest, right above his heart.

Eddie laughs. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t have a great ass, or anything…” he trails off, blushing. It’s been way too long since he flirted with anyone, let alone with someone like Richie, who can give even better than he gets. 

“Oh, well, thank you,” Richie says. “I’ve worked long and hard on it. So many hours in the gym, you wouldn’t believe.”

Eddie feels his heart thud out of time. “Really?”

“Absolutely, Eddie. I’m a dedicated gym bunny, I’ll have you know. It takes a lot to maintain this figure,” Richie says. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Are you?” Eddie says.

“You doubt me?”

“Maybe, a bit,” he says, exhaling shakily and hoping Richie doesn’t notice. “Maybe you’ll have to prove it.”

“Prove it?” Richie scoffs. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you sly dog. I don’t usually put out on the first date, you know.”

“I thought you said I was your favourite, though,” Eddie says. Something about flirting with Richie feels second nature, like the words are already on his tongue before Richie’s even spoken. He’s not sure how to feel about it, exactly, but the way it makes his blood feel on fire is oddly… nice.

“Are you turning my own words against me, now?” Richie says. “That’s low.” He pulls himself onto the last little platform of the fire escape. “I can’t very well demonstrate my strength up here. You’ll have to wait a little longer, my dear.”

Eddie climbs over to sit next to him on the ledge. “I suppose I can make do with that.”

“You suppose?”

“I suppose,” Eddie repeats. He smiles, staring at his feet so to avoid Richie’s eyes. “Am I really your favourite? Already?”

“Oh, you know, after we spooned at Bev’s, I just can’t stop thinking about you,” Richie says. He sounds like he’s joking, but there’s a strong undercurrent of truth that sets Eddie’s teeth on edge - in a good way.

“Am I just that good of a hugger?”

“Don’t lie, I was doing most of the hugging,” Richie says. “You’re a little spoon through and through, Kaspbrak. You really are hard to stop thinking about, though.”

“You think?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods. His smile turns tight-lipped for a second, before he bounces right back. “Anywho, that doesn’t matter right now. How do you feel about splitting half your sandwich?”

“It’s not even my sandwich,” Eddie says, but he unwraps it and gives Richie half anyway. “You’ll have to thank Bev.”

“God,” Richie says, mouth already full. “That woman. Honestly.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie says. “I’m convinced I would have been fired already if not for her.”

“We’re one in the same, Eddie-Spaghetti,” Richie says. “She’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

“Literally, or figuratively?”

“Let’s go for both,” Richie shrugs. “How long have you known her?”

“Since I started working here,” Eddie confesses. “I meant it when I said I didn’t have any friends outside of the office. You?”

“God, we need to get you out more. I’ve known her since we were kids. I had most of my firsts with her,” Richie said. “First date, first kiss, first girlfriend, first time. You name it, we probably did it.”

“You guys were… together?”

“Were being the operative word,” Richie says. “She’s not my type. We realised pretty quickly, it was like fighting fire with fire. But we’re still best friends. I’m glad I had those experiences with her and no one else, though.”

“She’s pretty special,” Eddie says. “You know, I still haven’t had my first kiss.”

Richie gasps. “What?! Looking like that? How come?”

“I guess most people just don’t wanna kiss me,” Eddie says, breathing a laugh out. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Well,” Richie says. “Do you  _ want  _ to have your first kiss?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Eddie shrugs. “Why? It’s not that important to me, I don’t care as much as I did when I was sixteen.”

Richie exhales loud enough that Eddie can hear it. “But you still care, right?”

“I guess. Why”

“Would you kiss me?” Richie asks. 

“Wha-”

“Just to see!” He continues, hurriedly. “Just so you know what it’s like. You’ve gone however many years - how old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“You’ve gone twenty four years without being kissed. And now I’m asking if you’d like to kiss me. So you don’t have to go any longer.”

Eddie inhales deeply. “I mean…”

“You don’t have to. I’m just… asking if you’d like to kiss me,” Richie says. “If you want.”

“I… I guess it has to happen at some point,” Eddie says. He can feel his brain screaming at him, at how terrible an idea this is. “Okay. Okay, why not?”

“Okay?” Richie repeats. “Okay. Um. I’m just gonna-” he lifts his hand to rest it on Eddie’s cheek, a heavy, grounding weight, and uses it to turn his face towards him. “Is this still okay?”

Maybe this is a bad idea, Eddie thinks distantly. Maybe letting his coworker, who he only properly started talking to about three days ago, kiss him is a really bad idea. He can’t quite find it in himself to care, so he nods, swallows, and then Richie’s lips are pressing on his.

His eyes fall closed, Richie’s other hand comes up to cup the back of his neck, and Eddie finds his own hands looping around Richie’s neck without even realising they moved. 

Richie pulls away after what feels like far too short a time, dropping his hands from Eddie’s face. Eddie breathes shakily, moving his hands back to his lap.

“Okay, so. Uh.”

“That was…”

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Yeah, that was.”

* * *

“So?” Beverly says expectantly, once Eddie returns to his desk. He’s five minutes late, mostly because Richie is almost impressively distracting. “How was it?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, sitting down in his chair and turning his computer back on. “It was alright. He kissed me.”

She chokes. “He what?!”

“He kissed me.”

“He kissed you?!”

“That’s what I said.”

Beverly sits back. “Oh, my God. Really?”

Eddie chuckles. “Yes, really. We were talking about our first kisses, and I said I hadn’t had mine, so he offered to kiss me. That’s all there is to it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

Bev frowns. “Are you sure you don’t want there to be more to it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Eddie.”

He lets his shoulders drop. “I don’t know, Bev. It’d be nice, sure, but I barely know him. And he barely knows me. Give it a week and he won’t want to be seen with me, I’m telling you now.”

“That’s very pessimistic of you, Eddie,” Beverly says.

“I guess it is.”

“Maybe you should try to be more hopeful,” she tells him. “You might find life gets slightly more enjoyable.”

“Life is plenty enjoyable right now,” Eddie says, and then refuses to listen to anything else she says.

* * *

“Hey,” Stan says, on Thursday morning. He dumps his man-bag (“It’s a satchel, Eddie!”) on his desk with a loud thud, and collapses into his chair with a groan.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, looking over in concern.

“Yes. No. Stressed. Coffee?”

Eddie smiles sympathetically, patting Stan’s knee. “I’ll get you some.”

“Not from the machine,” he says. “Please, not from the machine.”

“Jeez,” Beverly says, standing behind them, out of the way. “Who died?”

Eddie shrugs at her, smiling close-lipped. “I don’t know. Stan’s having a- moment?”

“I’m stressed,” Stan moans. “I want to quit. I never want to come in to work again.”

“What happened?” Bev asks, moving over to lean over Stan’s chair and envelope his upper half in a half-hearted hug.

“We had a wedding planner round last night,” Stan explains. “Weddings are so stressful. I never knew. If I had known, I never would have proposed. This is terrible, Bev, I don’t know what to do.”

Bev hums. “Eddie, can you go to the Starbucks round the corner for me?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, standing up. Stan sounds close to tears, and Eddie isn’t all that good at dealing with people when they’re crying. “Feel better, Stan.”

It’s a good thing that he knows their Starbucks orders by heart, he supposes, once he’s in the elevator. After several years of collecting and distributing fast food and coffee, he knows their preferred options from the majority of the food chains near their building. The useless trivia is certainly working in his favour now, he thinks.

“Eddie?” Richie’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Hey. Where are you going, leaving work this early?”

“Hey, Richie. Bev ordered me to go to Starbucks. Stan’s having a bad day,” Eddie says.

“Oh, well, let me come too,” Richie says. “And, hey, kissing you-”

The elevator doors open, and a short woman steps on between them. She’s wearing headphones, and Eddie can hear her music blaring through them. Richie stops as soon as the doors open, but once they close, he mouths over the woman’s head, ‘Kissing you was really great’.

Eddie tries not to blush so hard he spontaneously combusts, because that would certainly ruin the mood. And Beverly would probably not be happy at all when she finds out that he never even reached the lobby.

He makes a face at Richie in his attempt to dispel his flush. Thankfully, the elevator stops soon enough and Eddie rushes out, trying to avoid bumping into anyone in his haste.

“Eddie! Hey, Eddie!” Richie calls, striding after him. It’s not like he’s trying to run away from Richie, not really. Just that… things are kind of awkward - at least for Eddie - ever since they kissed, because he hasn’t quite been able to stop thinking about it. At all. Looking Richie in the eye makes him blush fire engine red, and looking at any other point on his face makes him want to kiss him again.

It’s really rather counterproductive, Eddie thinks. Which is why the safest option is jogging down the street, trying to pretend he isn’t jogging down the street, and cursing out the fact that Richie is disgustingly tall and catches up to him in a heartbeat.

“Are you trying to run away from me?”

“What?” Eddie asks. “No.”

“It sure seems like it, Eddie-Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not running away.”

“Aren’t you?” Richie tilts his eyebrow out him. “Starbucks is the other way.”

“What?” Eddie freezes, staring up the street. Richie’s right, the Starbucks is the other way. “Goddammit.”

“You’re really out of your mind today, Eds,” Richie says casually. “Can’t stop thinking about that kiss, huh?”

“Hm?” Eddie says, trying to play it cool, but the hum comes out more like a squeak.

Richie grins. “Our kiss. You remember, your first kiss? Can’t stop thinking about it. At least, I can’t, so I figure you’re in the same boat if the way you’re avoiding my eye is anything to go by.”

Eddie makes a point to stare Richie in the eye. “I’m not avoiding your eyes.”

“And you’re not as red as a tomato right now, either?” Richie asks, full of disbelief. 

“Shut up.”

“So, I was wondering,” Richie says, as they turn around and start back. “If you’d like to kiss me again.”

Eddie tries not to choke on his spit. “What? For real?”

“For real, for real. What do you say?”

“I-”

“Why don’t you tell me later?” Richie suggests. “You know? Think about it. Hey, even sleep on it. Talk to Bev. She’ll know what to do.”

“No, I- I can make my decision without Bev, you know,” Eddie says, frowning. “I’ll… I’d like to kiss you again.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, you asshole,” Eddie says. “Now shut up, cause I have to get drinks for Stan because he’s having a day.”

“We’re all having a day, will you buy me a drink?”

“No.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Richie declares. He bursts into laughter, so Eddie supposes he can’t mind too much, and hangs off of Eddie’s arm whilst he orders, thoroughly ignoring all of the strange looks they attract.

Eddie does his best to ignore them too, but it’s really quite hard when the cashier says, “You two make a lovely couple,” and Richie fixes her with a dazzling smiles, says thank you, and pecks Eddie’s cheek.

“What the hell was that for?” he asks, once they’re back on the street.

Richie feigns innocence. “What was what?”

“That! Pretending we’re a couple,” Eddie says. “What were you doing?”

“It’s just a bit of fun, Eds,” Richie shrugs. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you- I-” He cuts himself off with a groan. “Whatever. Just… whatever. We should go back to the office.”

“Probably,” Richie says. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

When Eddie gets back to their desks, Stan is drying his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater. Eddie hands Beverly her drink, fixing her with a questioning stare. Her returning quirk of her eyebrow tells him that she’ll tell him later. He nods an okay.

“You alright, Stan?” he asks, putting the other drinks on the desk.

Stan nods gratefully. “Yeah, I am now. Thanks, Eddie.”

“No problem,” Eddie says. He pats Stan’s shoulder, before taking his own seat, settling into his chair, dreading the day ahead. He can’t get his conversation with Richie out his head, and it’s hovering in the back of his mind like a storm cloud.

* * *

“Hey, Eddie,” Beverly says, once the day is coming to a close. “Walk with me.”

Eddie takes one look at her expression to know that means she wants to talk to him, so he nods, and stays seated at his desk. Beverly waits until everyone has left the office except the two of them, and then she stands up, heading over to the pinboard on the far wall. Eddie follows her, vaguely dreading whatever she’s about to do.

She pins up a large piece of paper and grabs a sharpie. “So,” she starts. “Firstly, with Stan. He was just stressed, so you don’t need to worry. He and Bill still haven’t decided on the wedding party, so they’re both worried out of their minds, what with the fire alarm situation - still, I know - and this.”

“Is he okay?” Eddie asks. He moves the keyboard on one of the desks near him over, and perches on top of it.

Bev nods. “He’s fine. Second; Richie.” She writes his name in block capitals on the piece of paper.

“What about him?” Eddie asks. He can already tell that he doesn’t want to have this discussion.

“He said he ran into you earlier, going to Starbucks. What happened, in your own words?”

“This feels like an interrogation, Bev,” Eddie says. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because it’s put you on edge for the whole day. I can tell. Richie makes you anxious, and I think we should talk about it,” she says. 

“You’re not a therapist.”

“No, but I am your friend. I’m both of your friends. That means I want to help you, and if I have to do that by forcing you to talk to each other till you sort things about, then I will.”

“Fine,” Eddie says. “He just… walked with me for a bit. Embarrassed me. He made it look like we were dating in front of the cashier, and he asked if I’d like to kiss him again.”

“Okay. And would you like to kiss him again?” Bev asks.

“I mean…”

“It’s a yes or no.”

Eddie closes his eyes, sighing. “I guess. Yeah.”

“Good,” she says, scribbling down ‘wants to kiss again’ on the paper. “How do you feel about him? Like, truly. Look deep into your soul, sort of thing.”

“I don’t want to look deep into my soul right now.”

“Humour me, Eddie.”

“I guess… he’s okay.”

“Just okay?” she asks, the pen poised above the paper.

“I don’t know. He’s nice, and pretty, and kind. And he’s a good kisser, and he’s funny,” Eddie says. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Bev. He’s a great guy.”

“Do you love him?

“I- what?”

“Do you love him?” She repeats. “Eddie, come on.”

“I… don’t know. Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

Eddie is silent for a long time. 

“Eddie?” Beverly prompts, her voice softening. “Do you  _ like  _ Richie?”

“I- I don’t know, Bev. I don’t know.”

“He likes you,” she says. “A lot.”

“He likes everyone.”

She gives him a look. “He likes you more, stupid.”

Eddie tries really quite hard not to get his hopes up. He rarely lets himself have the things he wants - he’s a simple man with no use for cheap tit-tat and useless, frivolous accessories. A relationship is more than he wants right now. 

“He doesn’t like me like  _ that,” _ he says, more to himself than to Beverly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bev.”

She lets him go, not bothering to correct him.

* * *

Friday is slow, and long. Beverly hardly meets his eye, and when she does, she looks like she’s practically bursting with pity. Stan is exhausted, and moody, the whole day, so when the weekend comes, its a welcome reprieve from work and all the drama that has unknowingly crept up on them.

Eddie finds himself blaming Richie for it, and hates that he’s blaming Richie for it. But none of this would have happened if it weren’t for him, and he finds himself regretting their kiss more and more each day. It’s driven a wedge right between his friends, and he doesn’t even know  _ why  _ \- and that might just be the hardest part of it.

He misses Richie more than he can even articulate, but the longer he’s left to stew, the more he starts to hate the mere idea of him. Everything he eats tastes bland, and he can’t find it in himself to cook anyway, and he’s not entirely sure just why this is affecting him so much, since he doesn’t even know what happened.

All he knows is: one) he misses Bev, two) he misses Stan, three) he almost, just about, sort of misses Richie, four) he hates that he misses Richie, five) he’s dreading work on Monday. 

He spends Sunday evening wallowing, watching reality TV and picking at stale pretzel sticks. He hates that this has affected him so much - that  _ Richie  _ has affected him so much. Eddie finds himself wishing that he could talk to Bev right now, but all she’d do is try to convince him to give Richie a chance, and there is nothing he wants less right now. 

His relationships have never ended particularly well - the few that he’s had, anyway. His ignorance towards the relationship aspect of life is something that he’s never been insecure about, per se, but now he’s met Richie and Richie seems to know all there is to know, and now he feels very slightly inferior, like he’s missed something.

He goes to sleep restless, that night. His heart feels heavy, and his brain feels all full of fog. 

* * *

“Oh- Stan, thank God.”

“Morning, Eddie,” Stan says, unpacking his lunch box from his bag. “How are you?”

He looks worryingly put together this morning. Eddie takes a moment to look over his ironed shirt, blazer (when has he ever seen Stan in a blazer?), trousers, and freshly shined shoes, searching for imperfections. “I’m okay. You look…”

“We have wedding things to do later,” Stan explains. “Bill is making sure I look nice.”

“Oh. Well, have fun. Is Bev in yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Stan says. “Why?”

“I need to talk to you,” Eddie tells him. “Listen, do you think I’m in love with Richie?”

“...What?”

“Do you think I’m in love with Richie?” Eddie repeats. “Please, Stan, it’s important.”

Stan turns around. He looks horribly sympathetic. “Eddie, I can’t really tell you that…”

“I’m asking what you think, Stan, please.”

His eyes fix on something behind Eddie. “Eddie…”

“What? Stan, what?”

“It-it isn’t the sort of thing that I can tell you,” Stan says, crumpling his mouth apologetically. 

“I’m just asking if  _ you  _ think I’m in love with Richie, though-“

Stan’s face falls. His gaze turns back to Eddie. “It’s the sort of thing that you have to find out for yourself, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

Eddie sighs. When he turns around, all he can see is Richie striding away as fast as he can. He finds himself wondering how things managed to go so wrong, so quickly. 

* * *

Eddie eats lunch alone. Stan heads off to find Bill, and Bev disappears to wherever she goes to (Eddie is convinced it changes day to day). He accidentally spills juice on his keyboard and it’s annoyingly sticky for the rest of the day. It does nothing but fuel his irritation - which he can’t help but feel is irrational, but that just makes him feel worse.

It’s a never ending cycle. All Eddie wants, really, is for everything to go back to normal. He’s not even sure when things  _ stopped  _ being normal, but he knows that if he could go back to the day the fire alarm was pulled and put a stop to all of the things that happened, he would. Maybe he wouldn’t even go into work on that day. Anything to stop this, whatever it is.

He can’t get Richie out of his thoughts all day, for better or for worse. His brain spins up elaborate plans and ideas; where they’ll go on their honeymoon, what he’ll wear to their wedding, how they’ll break up, what he’ll wear to the divorce court, and the intense make up sex they’ll have, before he realises that that is slightly insane. And it’s a bit inappropriate to be thinking about crazy make up sex with the guy who works on the floor above him. 

And lost his virginity to Eddie’s best friend, but he’s trying really very hard not to think about that. He doesn’t think it’s working very well.

Chris, the guy who sits at the desk next to them, and also keeps flirting with Eddie, smiles over at him. “Hey, Eddie. Bev and Stan disappear off, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. It’s kind of awkward. Usually, Beverly is there to herd off most of Chris’s comments. “I guess so.”

“Sucks,” Chris says. His face morphs into faux sympathy, and he slides over to sit in Beverly’s chair. “At least I’m here to keep you company.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. Chris loops his arm over Eddie’s shoulder, playing at casual even though it’s anything but. Eddie tries not to feel sick.

“You know, Eddie, I think you’re really cute-”

“Eddie!”

Eddie turns and Chris’s arm falls from his shoulder. Richie’s standing there, looking relieved. “There you are,” he continues. “You’re late! For our date, remember?”

Eddie frowns. There wasn’t a date. They never had a date. He can’t be late for something that never existed, and he starts to say that before catching a look at Chris’s face. He looks absolutely murderous, so Eddie takes the out. “Right. Sorry, Richie. We can go now?”

He stands, pushing his chair back in. Chris doesn’t look at him, so Eddie speed walks over to Richie, taking his hand and dragging him over to the elevator.

“Didn’t think Chris would be your type, Eddie,” Richie says. He sounds kind of upset, but Eddie doesn’t know why. If anything, he thinks he has the right to be upset in this situation, not Richie.

“He’s not.”

“Certainly looked like it, there, Eds.”

“How? I was going to be sick if you hadn’t showed up,” he says.

“I’m just telling it like I see it, Eddie-Spaghetti,” Richie says, holding his hands up in a surrender. “And I see it like you and him were getting pretty close.”

“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie turns to glare up at him. God, was he always this tall? “I hate Chris. Besides, you have no place to lecture me on this, you don’t own me. We’re not even  _ together,  _ so why would it matter who I am or am not close with?”

“I’m not saying that-”

“It sounds like you’re saying that, Richie. You kiss me once and think you have some kind of claim over me? Well, I’m telling you right now, you don’t.”

“I never said I did.”

“Good,” Eddie says, sharp and cold. “Then stop acting like it.” He yanks his hand from Richie’s. “I’ll see you later, Richie.”

“God, Eddie, really? You ask  _ Stan  _ \- of all people - if he thinks you’re in love with me, and now you have the audacity to act like this? You’re turning me in circles here, Eds!” Richie snaps.

“Turning you in circles?! You’re the one acting like you  _ own  _ me!” Eddie shouts.

“I am not acting like I own you, for fucks sake. I was helping you!”

“Helping me? How the fuck is this helping me?!”

“I don’t know, Eddie, how _ is  _ it helping you? Why don’t you go ask Stan, or Beverly, or any fucking person in this office since you apparently can’t make your own decisions,” Richie snarls.

“What the hell, Richie? What the hell is wrong with you?” Eddie asks. The elevator doors open and Eddie stalks inside. “I’ll see you later, Richie.”

The doors close on Richie’s glare, cold and icy. Eddie feels his eyes well with tears and his throat constrict. He hates Richie, he’s sure of it now. He hates him.

* * *

“Single handedly supplying the office with any and all gossip now, are we?”

“Hi, Bev.”

Beverly sits down next to him. “What happened, then?”

Eddie sighs through his nose. “I don’t know. I just… I hate Richie. Am I wrong to hate Richie? ‘Cause I hate him. He’s ruined everything.”

“He’s not-”

“He has. He said so many horrible things, Bev. I can’t believe I ever liked him. I can’t believe I ever thought I had a chance with him.”

“Eddie…”

“Don’t try and make excuses for him, Bev, please,” Eddie says. “I just… He keeps acting like he owns me. Like I belong to him. Like I can’t look after myself. And then he makes fun of me for it, and I don’t understand. I don’t understand him.”

“I know. I’ve talked to him,” Bev says. “He’s pretty upset about it, you know.”

“So am I! I have more of a right to be upset than he does.”

“I know, Eddie, I know. He’s got a temper, okay? He’s just… he’s got a short fuse, and you confuse him. I’m not trying to excuse him, I’m just explaining him. He really likes you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he does, and once you get over this hump, he’ll be the most amazing friend you could ever ask for,” she says. “I promise you.”

“I don’t want to give him a second chance.”

“I’m just asking you to let him make amends,” Beverly says. “I’m not lying to you when I say he feels bad. Do you trust me?”

“...Of course I do.”

“Then trust me when I say he loves you, Eddie.”

“He doesn’t act like it,” Eddie says. “I’ll… I’ll try. But I’m not making any promises, okay?”

“That’s all I ask,” Beverly says. She opens her arms for a hug. “Come here.”

Eddie goes. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Eds. Any time.”

* * *

When Eddie gets into work the next morning, there’s a horrifically large display of flowers spreading across his desk and spilling over onto the floor. 

“Morning, Eddie,” Andy says. “Any idea who these are from? They’re beautiful.”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “Are you sure they’re for me?” He asks, lifting a drooping bud. He’s not that educated on flowers, really, but there’s a whole range in front of him. His heart drops at the thought of the cost of all of them.

“They’re coming from your desk, so unless someone got mixed up,” Andy shrugs. She digs into the midst of the flowers, pulling out a small card. “Look, here. Do you want to read it?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie says, taking it from her.

_ Eddie,  
_ _ Sorry if you’re allergic to flowers. _

“It doesn’t have a name signed,” he says. “But I guess it is for me, after all.”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Andy says. 

“Maybe.”

“Well, don’t let it affect your work today,” she says. “I wish I had a secret admirer who would send me things like this. Good luck get all of them home,” she laughs, so Eddie does too. “Hey, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Andy,” Eddie says. His eyes trace over the writing on the card.

Richie.

* * *

“Hey, Bev?” Eddie asks, as soon as she gets in. She’s late, later than usual, and her makeup looks like its the same as the day before. 

“Yeah?”

“Has, uhh, has Richie said anything to you today?” 

“Hm? About what?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know, uh, flowers? Or presents, I don’t know, just…”

“Well, he hasn’t mentioned anything,” Beverly says. She puts her bag on her desk, digging through it. “Why?”

“No reason,” Eddie says. He uses his finger to flick a stray bud onto the floor. This feels like the sort of thing that he should keep to himself for a bit, and he kind of wants to pretend it belongs to just him for a little while longer. “No reason at all.”

* * *

Ben comes to find him on his lunch break. He brings with him a water bottle, a sandwich, and a mile wide grin. “Hey, Eddie! I was thinking maybe we could all hang out again tonight. If you’re free? It was pretty fun last time.”

“Hey. Um, I’m free, yeah. Where- what were you thinking of doing?” Eddie asks. His fingers pick up a leaf from his desk, tearing it to pieces.

“There’s this new restaurant downtown, I’ve been meaning to go. I thought we could all go together?” Ben suggests. “My treat. If you want.”

“That’d be nice, Ben, thanks. Here, do you want to take my number? Let me know what time you’re thinking of,” Eddie says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He rattles off his phone number. “Listen, I- I have to get back to work now, but, uh, thank you.”

“No problem,” Ben says. “It’ll be nice to hang out again.”

“I’ll see you later, Ben.” He offers him a small smile, which Ben returns, before turning back to his desk.

* * *

Ben’s restaurant turns out to be a small-ish, classic American diner, like the ones in movies. All checkered floor and red vinyl seats and greasy tables. There’s a jukebox in the corner, but it’s covered in dust and a laminated piece of paper that says ‘NONFUNCTIONAL’ in block capitals. The windows are painted with all kinds of multi-coloured decals, so much so that Eddie can barely see through them, but its… its nice. It feels like stepping into some whole other world, like he’s fallen straight into a 1950’s TV set and he’s just waiting for his very own Danny Zuko to come in on a motorbike and turn his whole world upside down.

“So, um,” Ben says, interrupting his thought stream. “Where do you wanna sit?”

“Over in the corner?” Bev suggests, pointing out a circular table on the far side. There are seven seats around it, so Ben nods and they all head over.

“Is Richie coming?” Stan asks, once they’re all seated. The empty chair feels odd, Eddie thinks, he can’t stop noticing it.

Beverly shrugs. “I don’t think so. He mentioned something about his parents. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Ben says. “We’ll make do with six.”

* * *

It’s not until Friday that Eddie entertains the thought that Richie is avoiding him. 

After receiving two giant spreads of flowers (his apartment more resembles a rainforest than an apartment now), a mariachi band welcoming him to his desk on Wednesday morning, and the stripper that surprised the office Thursday lunchtime (and the consequent ER trip - Eddie had been so startled, he knocked Beverly’s freshly brewed cup of coffee into her lap. He’s certain that that incident will go down in history as one of his most embarrassing work days ever, rivalling even Stan), Eddie isn’t even sure that he wants to see Richie.

But it feels a bit weird that he hasn’t made contact at all. Usually, he’ll see Richie hanging around the office, if not directly interacting with him, but the past week has been so absolutely devoid of his presence that Eddie can’t put it down to coincidence. Even Beverly hardly talks about him, like everyone’s made a conscious effort to remove Richie from Eddie’s life.

It doesn’t feel right. The longer it goes on, the more certain Eddie is that Richie is avoiding him, and that splits him in half. If the so-called gifts are from Richie (which they are, because no one else would do that for Eddie), then he’s not forgotten about him. But he hasn’t seen him, not anywhere. Eddie hates that he cares so much.

It all comes to a stop at the end of the day on Friday. Eddie packs up his satchel like he usually does. He says goodbye to Beverly, and Stan, and Mandy at the front desk, like he usually does. And he gets into the elevator exactly like he usually does.

And then Richie gets on at the fifth floor.

There’s a palpable silence. Eddie hates it. Richie won’t even look at him.

“Are you avoiding me?”

“N-”

“Because you’re doing all these things,” Eddie continues, and it’s like once he’s started, he can’t stop. “You’re sending me flowers, and that fucking mariachi band, and the  _ stripper,  _ but you’re ignoring me. And everyone won’t even talk about you. It’s like you’ve dropped off the face of the Earth, and I don’t get it. Because I know we had that argument, but now I don’t know what you’re doing. And you’re avoiding me, so I can’t ask, and Bev won’t talk to me about you, so I can’t ask her, and it’s like I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. Not with you, or us, or me.”

“Eddie…”

“So, please,” Eddie says, trying really hard not to burst into hot, embarrassing tears. “Richie. Just… if you hate me, just tell me. Please.”

“I could never hate you,” Richie says, earnestly. More earnest than Eddie has ever heard him. “I… Eddie, I… if I hated you, do you really think I would be sending you all this stuff? I’ve spent so long on the phone to the bank, I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

“Please don’t make jokes right now.”

“Right. Sorry,” Richie swallows. “I… you know when you were asking Stan, the other week? If you loved me. I, um. I hated that. Because I wanted you to love me. And I wanted you to realise you loved me, without anyone else. And I guess that was really selfish of me, but I just think you’re  _ amazing,  _ Eddie, and I think you’re amazing all on your own.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Eddie says. “I don’t know how to-to love you, or date you, or be with a man. Or be with anyone. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You think I do?” Richie sounds breathless.

Eddie blinks. He breathes. “Can I kiss you?”

Richie nods, so Eddie does, and all of their puzzle pieces fall back into place.

* * *

“Oh, thank God,” Beverly says, when she gets to their desk on Monday morning. “Fucking finally.”

“Fucking finally what?” Stan asks, looking up curiously.

“Richie and Eddie,” Beverly explains. “They finally got it together. Took you long enough, Eddie. Congratulations.”

Eddie blushes. “Um, thanks. I still hate him.”

“Of course you do. But you love him, too,” Bev says. She pokes his forehead, smiling. “Now I won’t have to listen to him moan about you anymore.”

“He moaned about me?”

“He wouldn’t shut up about you. If you two hadn’t gotten together sooner, I was going to throttle him,” she says, sitting down. “Now, come on. Tell me exactly how it happened.”

“Why can’t you ask Richie?” Eddie asks.

“Because if I ask Richie, he’ll lie, or he’ll tell me some stupid fairy tale instead. Now, come on. Stan wants to know, too.”

Eddie groans. “Fine. So, I got in the elevator, then he got in too, and we kind of shouted at each other a bit, and then I kissed him, and then we went out for dinner.”

“That’s really boring,” Stan says. “Bill and I got together because he fell out of a tree on my eighteenth birthday, right in front of me, and broke his arm, so I had to take him to the ER and while he was fucked up on the pain meds, he told me I was really cute and he thought I was a guardian angel.”

“Is that really how you two got together?” Beverly asks.

Stan nods. “Yep. If you ask Bill, though, we met at a grocery store and he complimented my choice of bread.”

“Those are both ridiculous,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, well,” Stan shrugs. “You and Richie have no room to talk. You got together because he sent you flowers and a stripper.”

“That’s not-”

“Yes, it is,” Bev says. “It absolutely is. You’ll have to tell that story to your kids, and if you don’t, then I, as their loving godmother, will accept that responsibility.”

“Kids?! Don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?” Eddie makes a face. “We’ve been official for, like, three days. Also, who says you’re going to be their godmother?”

Beverly laughs, knocking their shoulders together. “Of course I’m going to be their godmother, Eddie. Those children are going to need at least one responsible parent.”

“I’m plenty responsible!” Eddie protests. “Fuck you, Beverly. I’ll be the best parent you’ve ever seen.” And maybe, he thinks, just maybe, kids wouldn’t be so bad.

* * *

“Hey, Eddie,” Richie says, reaching around his chair to hug him. “Long time, no see.”

“I saw you yesterday,” Eddie says.

Richie pokes his cheek and fake growls. “Oh, you. What’s the scoop?”

“Ew,” Beverly says. “If you’re going to be like this, I’m going to have lunch with Ben.”

“Bye, Beverly,” Richie says. He leans down to whisper to Eddie, all teasing and theatrical, “good riddance.”

Eddie leans around him. “Hold on, wait. Ben? Ben Hanscom Ben?”

“Why are you saying it like that?” Richie whispers, but not really, loud enough so Beverly hears too.

“Because she said it like that,” Eddie explains. “Is something going on with you and Ben?”

Beverly makes a face like a deer caught in headlights. “What? No. No way. Why would you, uh, why would you think that?”

Eddie looks at her. “No reason.”

She avoids his gaze, pursing her lips. “Why would it matter if there is something going on? You’ve had your office romance, it’s my turn now.”

“Office romance?!” Richie splutters. “Beverly Marsh, I have no clue what you mean.”

“Then stop eye-fucking at my desk,” she says, regaining some of her composure. “Text me when Richie’s gone.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted us to have kids?” Eddie says. Richie snorts, dropping his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. Beverly doesn’t deign them with a reply, just walking off with her middle finger held high.

“Kids, huh?”

Eddie sighs a laugh. “It’s a bit early to be thinking about kids,” he says. “But Bev wants to be godmother.”

“Of course she does,” Richie says. He moves round to sit in Beverly’s chair, putting his feet into Eddie’s lap. It takes a well-practiced breath to disguise Eddie’s flinch - one that he’s spent years perfecting and repressing. “Go on, then. What would you name your kids?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. Girl or boy?”

“Both.”

“I guess I’ve always liked… Amelia. And Thomas? I don’t know,” Eddie says. “What about you?”

“Amelia’s cute. I like Pearl-”

“Pearl?!” Eddie scoffs. “That’s so extra, she’d get bullied.”

“At least its not Kaitlin, spelt K-E-I-G-H-T-L-Y-N-N-E,” Richie says, matter-of-factly. “I could do so much worse, Pearl is perfectly fine and normal.”

“Well, I hate it,” Eddie says. “No. I’m saying no to Pearl right now.”

Richie mock-groans. “Fine. How about Olivia?”

“Better.”

“Just better? Tough crowd. What about Alexander for a boy?”

“Amelia and Alexander,” Eddie says. “Yeah. Okay.”

Richie laughs. “What do you think about Eleanor?”

“Eleanor?”

“Yeah. For a girl,” Richie shrugs. “I don’t know. Ellie for short.”

“Ellie and Jack,” Eddie says. “Amelia and Alexander and Ellie and Jack.”

“And Richie and Eddie.”

Eddie chuckles. “And Richie and Eddie. Yeah.”

Richie exhales. “R and E. Sounds good, Eds. Sounds real good.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! pls drop a comment if you enjoyed. i had so much fun writing this, and once again, thank you to the people who helped motivate and encourage me. you're the best. <3


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